What Investing Rules Does Poor Charlie'S Almanack Recommend?

Peter Crowley finds out that it's been three days since I last lodged a purchase request from him. Thinking that I've finally learned how to become a good wife, he decides to text me as a form of reward. "I've already restored your adoptive mother's treatment privileges. You should be more docile from now on. Don't keep lying just to ask for more money from me. "I know that it's tough, being from the bottom rung of the society and all, but I'm not a gullible idiot, you know." What Peter doesn't know is that I've already finished drafting a divorce agreement by the time I receive his text. Before leaving the manor, the only thing I can take with me is the white T-shirt and the jeans I wore when I first married into this family. No one will ever believe that I, the glamorous and radiant Mrs. Crowley, don't have enough decent clothes to take up an entire closet. Every cent meant for any private expenses needs to go through a corporate approval system. All of the fancy clothes and jewelry are locked up in a safe, too. If I ever need money, I'll have to submit a request to Peter's secretary, Cara Harden. This is all because Peter looks down on my background. He thinks that I'll somehow develop a bad habit of spending money excessively just because I've married rich. But three days ago, my adoptive mother was in critical condition. I quickly put in a request for 200 thousand dollars for her surgical bills, only for Cara to drag out the approval system's procession. In the end, my adoptive mother died in the hospital. Peter has no idea that the only reason why I can tolerate his behavior for so many years is for the sake of the medical resources that can cure my adoptive mother. Now that my adoptive mother is dead, there's no need for me to continue staying in this marriage.

Just how rich can a person be? My husband, Don Leonardo Bianchi, is incredibly wealthy. Every time he abandons me for his childhood sweetheart, Sofia Rossi, he gives me a building. The first time, it was a luxury apartment building with a sea view. The tenth time, it was a commercial property in the prime downtown area. By the 50th time, the general managers of several real estate companies had started calling me "Boss". Five years into our marriage, my real estate spreads across the entire country. When the deed to the 97th building is delivered to me, Sofia sends me a taunting voice message. "You might have the property deeds, but I have Leonardo. Aurora Esposito, tell me, which one of us is the real winner?" After listening to it, I don't cry or make a scene. Instead, this time I take the initiative to draft an agreement and wait for Leonardo to sign it. Once Leonardo comes back, he signs it and praises me for being magnanimous. He then takes me to a party as his date. At the party, Sofia loses game after game and is stripped down to only her underwear. When she loses once more, she turns to me—who is wearing only a dress—with a meaningful smile and says, "What's the fun in just me taking things off? I think Aurora, the perfect Donna, should join in too." Amid the clamor of cheering, I quietly look at Leonardo. "You just have to take off one piece of clothing. Don't spoil everyone's fun. When we get back, I'll give you another building," he whispered to me coaxingly. I calmly acquiesce. Little does he know that he won't have another chance to give me anything, because what he blindly signed earlier is our divorce papers.

I was the stingiest rich wife in the city’s high society. I did not spend money on beauty treatments or travel. In fact, I did not even own a single decent outfit or a handbag. Everyone laughed at me. They said I had the fortune of a wealthy family but not the luck to enjoy it. However, what they did not know was that behind closed doors, Arvid Hans, who was famous for his lavish spending, was a hundred times stingier than I was. He piled on gold and jewels to keep up appearances in public. However, with me, he was a miser, refusing to spend a single extra penny. We split every expense down to the last penny. Every meal and every prescription required a receipt and an entry in the ledger. He said this was to help me develop a business mindset. He said that fairness and caution were the keys to a lasting relationship. While other wives were decked out in expensive jewelry, I was dressed simply. He said I was naturally beautiful and did not need such trinkets to enhance my looks. Even our housekeeper was hoarding gold for investment. Yet he kept me from touching a single penny, citing the Hans family’s tradition of being frugal. For three years of marriage, I lived like a devout nun, strictly adhering to the “rules of frugality” he had tailored for me. It was not until Christmas Eve, when I returned a day early from visiting my parents, that I discovered someone else had been living the life of luxury meant for me.

When I was at my absolute poorest, I got sucked into some kind of survival game. The challenge was to survive 7 days on just 50 dollars, and the winner would walk away with a million dollars. As someone who might as well be certified as a professional at being broke, I knew exactly how to survive on next to nothing. That prize money had my name written all over it.

My fiancee, Emma Jillard's assistant, Charlie Ziegler, loves placing bets. After Emma loses a bet to him, she cancels our wedding for the 19th time because of him. I warn her that if this happens again, I'll marry another woman immediately. But Emma just smiles at me nonchalantly. "You've already donated your kidney to me, Shawn. What makes you think you can marry someone else? Besides, who else but me will marry a handicap like you?" On the 20th wedding, Charlie sends Emma a photo of the airport, where half a flight ticket can be seen. This is another bet that he has made with her. "If you can't find me in half an hour, you will never be able to see me again." Having noticed the destination that's printed on the ticket, Emma rips her wedding veil off her head before rushing toward the airport in a fit of panic. Half an hour later, Charlie updates his social media feed. "Only the one who truly cares for you is willing to overcome challenges for you." Upon noticing the post, I don't bother responding to it. Instead, I quietly dial a phone number that I'm very familiar with. "Eleanor, are you still going to keep your word of marrying me back then?" Her voice echoes back excitedly. "Seriously? Of course! As long as you're my marriage partner, I will forever stick to that promise!"

My mother-in-law is extremely frugal. She reuses paper others have discarded, carefully saving the unmarked portions. She even takes the black waste oil from the kitchen range hood and uses it to cook our meals. She says, "Frugality is a virtue—it brings blessings!" I try tirelessly to convince her otherwise, throwing out all her filthy items to protect my family's health. But while she praises me to my face, behind my back, she uses my baby's food scissors to clip her grimy toenails. My child eventually dies of a lung infection, leaving me heartbroken. My mother-in-law, however, points her finger at me, saying I'm unlucky and that I've brought misfortune to their family. Even my husband blames me. In the end, they use a knitting needle to pierce my throat and stab me to death. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the day I first see her picking up dirty paper. The first thing I do is hide all the high-quality tissue paper I had stocked up on before my pregnancy, pretending I knew nothing. She calls these blessings, right? Fine. The blessings of this miserly frugality—she can reap them all herself!